Someone bumped into me in the canteen and sploshed a good portion of my freshly made Earl Grey over the back of my hand. As the only way to properly drink Earl Grey is sans milk, it was pretty damn hot. I now have sore and scalded fingers.

While I am tough and manly enough to just put up with this, I thought of my fellow customers and decided to have a word with the manager of the place. We talked on the health and safety issues at length and, after considerable discussion, and a threat of legal action on my part, they have agreed that boiling water will only be served at 36.8°C, thereby significantly reducing the risk of accidental scalding.

It may take my colleagues some time to get used to body-temperature tea but I think they’ll eventually agree that it’s a small price to pay for the additional safety benefits.

Hadn’t thought of that. It’s a deathtrap minefield in there. And that’s to say nothing of the psychological implications of working somewhere so brain-meltingly dull.

Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.